All Rise...

Editor's Note

The Charge

The harvest in autumn brings sorrow even as the rice ripens to a golden
hue.

Opening Statement

Kabuki theater is a very specific Japanese art that conforms to rigid rules
of singing and dancing, so calling a narrative film Kabuki in style seems hardly
possible, at least in any traditional sense. That is, until one watches The
Battle of Narayama. While not Kabuki in its strictest terms (there is little
in the way of singing and dancing), director Keisuke Kinoshita (Apostasy)
uses many aspects of the form to relay a Japanese legend that is old in story
but new in style, even when viewed half a century after it was made. I don't
know that I've ever seen a movie quite like this and, luckily, I'm able to see
it today in a beautiful release from the Criterion Collection.

Facts of the Case

In a small, destitute Japanese village, food is so scarce that the citizens
utilize a practice known as Obasute, in which the elderly, upon their
seventieth birthday, must travel up the mountain known as Narayama. There, they
will die from exposure rather than burden their families. As her death date
approaches, Orin (Kinuyo Tanaka, Sansho the
Bailiff) is filled with sorrow, not because she has to die, but because her
mouth is still full of teeth. To her and her family, this represents a truly
shameful idea: that she still eats like a young woman.

The Evidence

Unlike other cinematic representations of Kabuki Theater, The Ballad of
Narayama is not a filmed play. The story doesn't even come from the
tradition and, instead, is based on a novel that was itself based on a popular
folk legend. For Kinoshita, the Kabuki presentation was a purely stylistic
choice, a strange and effective one, at that. As Kabuki plays do, the narrator,
masked and clad head to toe in black, clacks a pair of oak sticks together to
signify its beginning, then pulling back a curtain to start the action.

What we see when that curtain is drawn is not a bare stage, but an elaborate
studio set. There is no pretense at realism here; these sets are hyper-stylized
and gorgeous. Day and night are delineated by the raising and lowering of studio
lights, while scene changes happen by the pulling up or down of backdrops. There
are traditional cuts when large changes take place, but much of it is done by
smooth transitioning in a very theatrical style. The oversized landscapes and
widely varied lighting colors lend a constant surreal feeling to the film.
Interiors and exteriors are equally met with intricate detail and bright, almost
pastel colors that belie the inherent morbidity of the story.

The unflinching and straightforward manner that The Ballad of
Narayama deals with poverty, aging, and death is striking, especially given
the high style look of the film. In spite of a few humorous moments, it is
exceedingly grim. Obasute is translated as "abandonment of old
people" and is the overriding theme of the movie, but the idea of a child
carrying a parent up a mountain to let him or her die is rough enough, but the
other main issue involves Orin so filled with self-hatred over her teeth that
she spends half the film looking for a way to knock them out, so at least she
looks the part. This becomes even darker with the arrival of her son's new wife
and the impending birth of her grandson's child, making Orin's sorrow even more
profound. But, for all of that, there are moments of comedy that keep the movie
from becoming a total beating. These are few and far between, but are just
enough to give the film a great balance.

This is all to the credit of Kinoshita's directorial skills and Tanaka's
presence and power as an actress. A woman of less than fifty at the time, she
portrays a hunched person more than twenty years her senior with absolute
resolve and believability. She carries the whole film and, when the final,
inevitable resolution arrives, she brings a genuine and heartfelt strength to
her destiny, especially as opposed to the spectacle her son finds while grieving
on his way down the mountain. At the very end, after the story has come to a
close, there is a brief bit that pulls us away from the elaborate sets and into
a real life location. A train pulls into a town, with a sign naming it Obasute
Station. Here, Kinoshita makes the most of what he has built, delivering one
last stylistic note, establishing the enduring legacy of the existential trouble
with the legacy, and capping off the utterly unique experience of The Ballad
of Narayama.

The Ballad of Narayama is presented on Blu-ray by Criterion in a
technically gorgeous edition, but one that is sadly lacking in the company's
typical array of supplements. The 2.35:1/1080p transfer is fantastic, with
terrific clarity and detail. Colors are brilliant and whites are bright, with
the only problem coming from some inconsistent black levels. They're rare; most
are deep, but there are a few instances where they look blocky and allow some
color to bleed over. The sound is great, too, with an excellent PCM mono mix
that has great dynamic range and perfectly clear dialog and strong music. I love
how the disc looks and sounds, but the lack of any supplements beyond the
customary essay booklet and a trailer is a real disappointment.

Closing Statement

Kabuki Theater mixed with a morbid story and heavy stylization is a fantastic
recipe for my enjoyment of a movie and The Ballad of Narayama does it
better than I could have hoped. Although there are no significant extras on the
disc, the film is beautiful, sad, extremely well made, and something I can
happily recommend to anybody, with or without a knowledge or love of Kabuki or
Japanese cinema.

The Verdict

Not guilty.

Give us your feedback!

Did we give The Ballad of Narayama (Blu-ray) Criterion Collection a fair trial? yes / no

What's "fair"? Whether positive or negative, our reviews should be unbiased, informative, and critique the material on its own merits.